


Theurgy

by hesychasm (Jintian)



Series: Theory and Theurgy [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Slayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-26
Updated: 2004-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jintian/pseuds/hesychasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy and Faith after "Normal Again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theurgy

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel of sorts to "Theory of a Girl," which gets Faith in and out of Sunnydale between "The Gift" and "Bargaining." However, I think this story can be read simply as a what-if, all on its own. It takes place in a post-"Normal Again" alternate universe, although I have ignored the retcon of Buffy being institutionalized before. "Intervention" is somewhat important as well.

  
_1\. A bad moon's a comin'_   


Mexico. Midnight.

Jesus, she was dying for cold weather. She'd never thought she would actually miss it, in fact had leaped at the chance to come out to a California town with a name like Sunnydale. Back then, as far as Faith had been concerned, winter could just fuck itself. Fuck all of it -- snow, ice, gray skies and clouds like scars, wind slicing through skin. Fuck Boston with its crazy, crooked streets, fuck the T lines south, fuck the tired claptrap house where her mother had drunk herself to death, where Kakistos had chased Faith home and where she had cowered by the window while he dumped her Watcher's intestines, heart and lungs onto the trampled slush of the yard.

She'd never thought she would long for a Boston winter, but she did now. One hundred degree nights in fucking _March_ were just proof of evil in the world. Even leaving the window open meant the muggy, dead air inside just rolled over on top of the muggy, mosquito-ridden air outside. And sleep, of course, was impossible.

Faith pulled her tank top away from her back, sliding a hand across the slick skin. Sweat trickled down to the waistband of her panties. She was sweating all over, hair sticking to her neck and forehead, thighs slippery, the backs of her knees. She took her tank top off and ran it under the tepid water from the sink until it was soaked, then put it back on. Goosebumps rose all along her body, and damn, _damn_ , it felt good. She and the shirt would be filthy in the morning, but she could already feel her flesh cooling from the change.

She paced to the window, stuck her head out and breathed in the night: flour and hot spices from the kitchen across the courtyard, rapid fire Spanish and clinking pots. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. She had a fistful of cash in her bag, three fourths of the price of a bus ticket to Panama City, and she didn't mean to let it dwindle any further.

She left the window to flop back onto the thin mattress. This time, the thick air squatting overhead tingled in a pleasant way, absorbing the water out of her tank top, stealing some of her body heat with it. Faith's eyes drifted shut.

 _Panama City, baby. Pretty soon you won't just be in my dreams._

*

She was gripping Buffy's shoulders, holding her down. Buffy kicked hard, but the leather straps bound her legs. The movement rippled through the rest of her thin body, arching her back, lifting her off the mattress.

"Hold still," Faith ordered. "Buffy, fuck, what's the matter with you?"

Buffy was panting, her eyes frenzied and unfocused. "Not real, you're not real, you're _not_ real."

"Like you can talk -- you're dead, remember?"

"No! I imagined you. All of you."

They were standing in a forest clearing, in front of Buffy's headstone, and Faith held her hand. "Look, see, you died. They _buried_ you."

Buffy stared at it, a tear track shining on her cheek. She reached out a small hand and traced the letters of her name. "I...I did?"

The dream changed, kept changing.

Buffy clawed her way out of the ground, her hair long and dirty. Stood at the top of a rickety tower while Dawn screamed soundlessly behind her. Danced wildly, spinning and flailing her arms. Was pinned against a wall, kissing Spike and thrusting her hips furiously against him. Held Spike down on the floor of an alley, smashing her fist into his face.

In the clearing again, Buffy repeated, "Not real."

"Buffy." Faith edged away, closer to the headstone. "It's not real 'cause you're _dead_. I'm the Slayer now."

The dream changed. The corpse next to her turned its head, hair sliding yellow and decrepit on the coffin's satin pillow. "Is that what you think?" the corpse said, and it was Buffy's voice, rotted and decaying like the flesh. "You're stuck in here just like me."

*

It hadn't been a dream that had called Faith from Boston to Sunnydale the first time, but the stirring in her blood was the same. Still, she tried to brush it off -- Buffy was a pile of rot and bones, and as far as Faith was concerned there was nothing else tying her to the town. She'd left it for the last time months ago, an age ago, left the Watchers in their empty house and the Scoobies with their empty mission, and she had no plans to _ever_ go back.

But the dreams didn't stop. Every time she closed her eyes to sleep she drowned in death and madness. Slaying suffered -- she could feel her body miscalculating night after night, and she didn't know if it was because she was simply tired, or because she couldn't fight a ghost.

"Fuck you, B," she muttered, limping away from a Jurga demon corpse. Its claws had taken a good scrape out of the back of her thigh, and only pure dumb luck had gotten her stake in its throat as she flailed around to strike.

That night, in the dream, it wasn't Buffy's name on the gravestone: it was her own.

The next morning she bought a ride in a beat-up northbound station wagon, her stomach empty, her duffel bag full of stakes.

The three guys in the car were American, college kids on spring break. One of them was very much into his girl back home; the other two had never tried a threesome before. She saved her forty bucks and fucked them both in the tiny motel room ten miles in from the border on the U.S. side, the orgasms sweating out of her like an ocean sliding against a beach. Afterwards she lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the moisture on her body relaxed back into the air.

The boys invited her to tag along to Berkeley, but she got them to drop her off outside of Sunnydale. That had been somehow important, keeping the name of the town to herself for as long as possible on the trek up the highway, as if it were some secret jewel buried in the earth of California. Finally when she could sense they were getting near, she pointed it out to them on their dog-eared roadmap. Just a small black dot an inch from L.A., just a small black dot where she'd killed people and demons and vampires, where she'd slept like the dead for eight months straight, where she'd even once helped close the mouth of Hell.

It was already after dark when she arrived, and that of course was the way it should be. Sunnydale, the air fifteen degrees cooler than Mexico, smelling familiar, smelling like death smothered in palm trees and flowers, a town with no less than twelve cemeteries. Buffy must have known them all by heart, but to Faith they'd always blended into one long, angry, blood-filled night.

The only grave she was interested in anyway wasn't in a graveyard, but all by itself sheltered under some trees. When she got there the headstone was still in place, still bearing the same name and message: "She saved the world a lot."

Well, that was great and all, Faith thought, how this one line had managed to summarize Buffy's entire fucking life. One line on a block of stone plugged into the dirt on top of her decaying _corpse_.

Except.

Except her skin was tingling, and she could feel the blood pulsing darkly in her hands. She clenched them into fists.

She'd only ever felt this way around one girl. Almost like they were vampires, blood calling to blood. B would probably hate that idea, probably backhand her one if she ever said it out loud.

God, B _would_. As if she were alive, as if it could even fucking be true.

Faith turned on her heel and ran, straight into the night, like she could make the entire town blur and disappear behind her. She ran like she was outrunning something, as if she could turn the blood mute and voiceless by leaving it behind.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of fang, a ridged forehead. She followed the vampire into the long black shadows of a cemetery. The headstones and crypts flew past her, hard corners and silent statues. She jumped the vamp beneath a female saint, crashed them both into the damp grass, and drove her fist into its face.

He roared and lunged as she straddled his torso. She was almost knocked off onto her ass, and in retaliation clenched both hands together and brought them crashing back down onto his mouth. A fang split her knuckle open and _fuck_ , it hurt, and _fuck_ , he was actually licking her blood from his lips, grinning up at her hungrily.

"Bastard!" she spat, pulling a stake from her waistband and ramming it home. The vamp exploded into dust between her thighs.

This time she did fall backwards. The moon shone its blind white eye down on her as she lay gasping in the grass. Old, musty smell of vamp dust mixed with earthy soil and pungent green, the night settling on top of her with an intimate touch.

Blood to blood. Faith got to her feet and listened with the Slayer part of her, the part that had only been half a girl from the first day she was called. She shivered and ran her hands through her hair, over her breasts. Then she picked up her stake and started running again.

*

 _2\. This bottle's not a pretty, not a pretty sight_

Lately Buffy dreamed without remembering her dreams. This morning she'd awakened with sun in her eyes, blinded, frightened, clawing out like an animal. Her hands scraped air, clenching into fists, hitting out at nothing.

Gradually she became aware of her own quiet sobs and pressed her face back into her pillow. The fabric was damp under her cheek, salty-smelling.

 _the hospital sheets scratching, bleachstench, sweat and filth swelling up from underneath like a secret_

Two delusions, and still, sometimes, she wondered which one was real, which one she hoped was real. She lay in bed and let the sensations fight each other out: institution cot versus double bed, this girl raving about demons and death, this girl living it, living _through_ it.

Buffy sat up and drew her knees to her chest. The sun coming through the window was hot; she felt sweat at her temples, her collarbone. First thing in the morning and already she felt worn through, transparent, the sun shining into her head like an examining light.

She could hear someone moving around in the hall. Willow or Dawn, getting ready for the day.

"Not yet," Buffy whispered. "Not yet."

But no one was listening to her.

*

"So what are you thinking?" Willow said, bouncing lightly on the sofa cushions. "Girls' night out at The Bronze, with dancing and people? Or, maybe just some quiet girl time at home, with toenail polishing and crackers and those little cheese cubes you like so much? I got your favorite kind."

She raised her eyebrows hopefully, and Buffy wanted for just one endless, hanging moment to smash her fist through the bridge of Willow's nose. She wanted it so much she could already see her fist leaving Willow's face, a trail of blood spurting in its wake.

Buffy swallowed, burying the desire like a poison in the earth. She forced a smile and gestured at the TV. "I'm actually kinda okay with Friends."

"Oh." Willow's face fell. "Are you sure? Because also, I was thinking, if you wanted to make it _not_ just a girl thing and invite Xander over, we could do that. I'm not opposed. And hey, you know, he could do with some support, after the whole non-wedding thing."

"You're right." Buffy pasted on a concerned look. "He should be with us. Definitely."

"So, should I call him?"

"Sure."

"Okay, I guess I'll...do that now, then. Want anything from the kitchen?"

"Uh, maybe some popcorn?"

Looking relieved, Willow scrambled to her feet and chirped, "One bowl of buttery goodness, coming right up." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Buffy breathed in deep and turned the volume up on the TV. The laugh track shattered against her ears, the bright lights hammered her eyes, but she didn't look away from the screen. The TV pressed its white noise hard into her brain. That was all she wanted right now: white, warm, unthinking noise.

Too soon, Willow was back. "Buffy?" she said, leaning close as she set the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. Her soft flowery scent, carried on the heavier greasy smell of the butter, drifted into Buffy's nostrils.

Buffy blinked. "Yeah?"

"Xander said he'll be right over."

"Great. Sounds great."

Willow gave her a tentative smile. "So where's Dawn tonight?" She pitched her voice a little louder, to be heard over the TV.

"At a friend's house. Kelly or Katie, whatever her name is."

"Overnight?"

"Yeah. We kind of had a fight this morning," Buffy explained.

"Oh." Willow's expression became immediately concerned. "Did you want to talk about it or anything?"

Buffy's stomach clenched. She remembered Dawn's eyes filling with tears, her voice wobbling in that way it did when she cried: "Buffy, don't shut me out again, _please_."

"It was no big," she said. "I mean, you know Dawn. Tomorrow morning she'll come stomping in wanting to watch TRL or something, and we'll be back at square one."

Willow bit her lip for a moment, then reached over and hit the mute button on the remote. The silence was sudden and deafening. "Buff, I know we haven't talked much, since you've been...since you've been back. And I know that last week, with the...you know, the tying us up and dragging us down to the basement...that it might still be on your mind and all. But you know we meant it when we said we weren't mad at you, right?"

"I do." Buffy nodded, trying to make her smile reassuring. Which struck her as silly, since Willow was trying to reassure _her_. "I really do."

"So I guess, I just wanted to say that, you know, I'm here. If you need me."

"Thanks. But really, I'm okay."

Nodding and smiling, smiling and lying. She had it all down to an art form by now.

Willow looked like she wanted to say more, her face guilt-stricken and worried in patented Willow fashion. Before she could speak, Buffy turned the sound back on the TV. The laugh track crashed into the living room again.

After a heavy, suffocating moment, Willow reached for the popcorn.

*

Later Xander breezed in with a fast rattle of wisecracking, and he and Willow squabbled over the remote during commercials. Credits rolled, channels flipped. The sea of color began to close over Buffy's head, and she stumbled to her feet. Xander and Willow cut off their chatter and looked at her.

"I'm gonna patrol," she told them.

"Want me to come with?" Xander said.

"I can come, too," Willow offered. "I could use the exercise, after all that popcorn."

"I'll be fine on my own." Buffy crossed quickly to the weapons chest and loaded up with a crossbow and a few stakes before he could protest. "I'll be back late," she said. "Why don't you guys go to the Bronze or something? You wanted to before, right, Will?"

"Maybe," Willow said, uncertain. "Be careful out there."

"Yeah, no more getting stabbed by gargle demons," Xander quipped.

Buffy tried to come up with something witty in return, but instead found herself yanking open the door and stumbling outside.

The night was clear and cool against her face. The moon had climbed high, washing the streets with its light. She began to jog, the crossbow slung over her shoulder and bouncing against her side. She reached the end of Revello Drive, turned the corner and lost her house behind a tall dark hedge.

Nighttime, the town draped in shadows, the shadows seething with monsters. She felt herself waking up to it, her body humming. The night was her territory. Six, seven years of slaying, and she had made this world-beneath-the-world her own, had made it second nature to hunt and kill in darkness. The night balanced the brightness and brittleness of day. She prowled the shadows alone, forcing a path through, and was less and less sure of the way back.

For half a moment she paused on a street corner, feeling the urge to seek Spike out. It was an internal struggle she fought every night: turn left, toward the graveyard where his crypt was, or right, into the center of town.

She steeled herself and turned right.

Just in time. Vampire movement stood out in a crowd, especially when the vamp was on the hunt. She saw a young girl window-shopping, and a few yards behind her, the vamp's smooth catlike prowl. Buffy crossed the street, losing her focus for a moment in the crush of people. She spun around, straining to catch a glimpse of them.

There -- at the mouth of an alleyway, a blur too fast for a human.

She raced after it, entered the alleyway and saw the vampire bending the girl backwards over his arms, his face buried in her neck. In her fury she barely gave him time to blink before she pulled him off and plunged her stake into his chest. The vampire burst into dust.

The girl collapsed against the wall with a wail, her shirt collar spattered in blood.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked. She was strongly reminded of Dawn and crouched next to the girl, patting her gently on the back.

"What -- what was -- "

"A vampire," Buffy said. "But he's gone now."

"He was biting me-e-e...."

"He's gone," Buffy said. "You're okay. Probably won't be able to wear that shirt again, but you're alive."

"He was going to kill me," the girl said through her tears.

"That's what vamps do," Buffy agreed.

"But you -- you killed him instead."

Buffy shrugged. "That's what I do."

A car whizzed by on the street outside, its backdraft scattering the vampire's remnants. Buffy stared at the empty space on the cement.

She thrust the girl away from her. "Look, you should go home. Lock the doors, don't invite any strangers inside, and -- next time you think someone's following you? Stay away from dark alleys." She headed out to the street, leaving the girl behind.

She was still clutching the stake in a tight grip. As she walked she shoved it back into her jacket pocket, leaving her hands empty. Her fingers felt stiff and sore.

She'd been meting out death with such things since before she'd ever understood what death was. Stakes, swords, crossbows, their hardness like an extension of herself. Her own body, in the end, had been the strongest weapon of all.

 _I'm finished,_ she'd thought. _I'm finally finished._ Except the fight was never finished, was it? Purpose and calling didn't end with the end of life. She'd experienced it before, drowned at sixteen, dead enough to call another Slayer and yet up she got, because the fight was never over.

She was like the vamp in the alley. Two things that had cheated death, bodies that had lived and died and moved again, and neither of them given a choice about it. Even the scattering of dust didn't really mean the end, not when magic could always say otherwise, when anyone with enough power could just wish you back.

Overcome with a sudden fury, she stumbled around the corner of a building and into another alley. Wooden crates stood stacked beside the wall. Buffy grabbed one and flung it against the brick, smashing the wood to bits. She picked up another and hurled it hard into the street, scattering a few passersby.

Furious, frustrated noises worked in her throat. She couldn't even scream. She drove her fist through another crate, lifted it with her arm and threw it into the side of a dumpster. The clang of impact resounded through the alley.

The air pressed against her like an enclosing box. She leaned against the wall, panting.

"Buffy." A hand touched her shoulder and Buffy whirled, her fist flying out in reflex.

*

 _3\. I been talkin' to my alter_

Faith rocked her head to the side. Moving air whistled past her cheek as the blow just missed her.

"Wait," she gasped.

But Buffy's other hand lashed out, catching her across the temple. Pain exploded in her head, and she stumbled back until her shoulder struck the wall.

Buffy spun with a roundhouse kick, aiming at Faith's face. Instinct took over and Faith ducked. She straightened as Buffy regained her balance.

"Buffy!" she shouted, backing further into the alley. "Fucking give it a rest already."

But the pull of blood was strong, the air between them sharp with memory. Faith felt the Slayer rise up and snarl. She wasn't sure which of them it came from. Faith met the next attack with a hammer fist. Buffy's head snapped back and she cried out.

Faith waited, wary, as Buffy touched a hand to her lip. Blood welled past her fingers. Above her hand, her expression was wounded and shocked.

Christ. Some things never changed, even after death.

Faith's throat clicked as she swallowed. Buffy. Buffy alive, breathing.

"You..." she said. "I thought you were dead."

The hurt look disappeared like a door closing on light. Buffy dropped her hand to her side. "I was." The blood made her mouth look like a messy, open gash. "I came back."

Faith gaped at her, trying to wrap her mind around the concept. "But...how?"

"Willow. She and the others did a spell." Buffy blinked. "And you? Why are you here?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Faith said, slowly, "Not sure myself." Cautious, she stepped forward. "I had these dreams about you. They wouldn't go away. Every night it was like you were calling me in my sleep. So I came here and you're -- Buffy, you're alive."

"Well, I wasn't," Buffy said. "I mean, I wasn't calling anybody." She turned and made her way to the street, Faith following behind. "They told me you were in Sunnydale last summer," Buffy said, "but that you left. Those Watchers hung around for a while but Willow said Giles thought they went back to England."

"They actually tracked me to Mexico City. But I gave 'em the slip, haven't seen 'em since."

"I don't think they even know _I'm_ here. No one's checked up on me since Willow...." Buffy trailed off as they rounded the corner and entered the main block of shops.

Faith studied her as they walked, trying to place her next to the last time they were together, in Los Angeles on the roof of Angel's building. She didn't know what she was looking for, exactly -- maybe evidence of death, maybe something else entirely. They had shared bodies too that last time, but now there were stories in Buffy's face and movements, things done and learned, that Faith knew she'd had no part in.

She looked older and harder, of course, and Faith thought that was no surprise. That was what death did to you -- not dying yourself, but watching people die, vampires and friends and mothers, people who'd been a part of your life. It got into your bones and added centuries everywhere there was a weakness, and when people looked at you they couldn't say, anymore, how old you were. They only knew you were older than you should be.

"What are you looking at?" Buffy said abruptly. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to meet Faith's gaze head-on.

"You look tired, B." And as she spoke she realized it was true. Standing there with a scab forming on her lip, fashion-plate clothes hanging loose on her skinny frame, Buffy looked like nothing more than a tattered, faded ribbon.

"Well, don't worry," Buffy said, and started walking again. "I've still got my Slayer badge, don't I?"

*

They detoured through a cemetery. A couple of vampires came storming around from a crypt, and without speaking they moved together, the Slayer machine well oiled. It was over in half a minute.

Faith dusted her vamp and watched Buffy spin-kick and dust hers, each movement precise and unhesitating. Suddenly she felt a flush of heat beneath her skin. Buffy, alive. And maybe that meant something. Something good, for once, something she could maybe get right this time.

She contemplated this as Buffy walked over, her expression unreadable in the moonlight. She wondered if she herself seemed different to Buffy at all, if the changes she'd been through showed on her face as well.

"It's almost three," Buffy was saying. "We should head back. Or I should, since I have to work tomorrow."

"Work? You pulling a real paycheck and everything?"

"Yeah, it's...kind of a long story." Buffy tapped her leg with her stake. "So where are you staying, anyway? Not that same crappy motel, I hope."

Faith had a flash of her duffel bag where she'd left it, sitting on the grass next to Buffy's grave. "Uh, actually, I didn't really get a chance to check in anywhere. Just kinda figured, night's when the action happens in this town, so I thought I'd stay out. And what do you know," she motioned at Buffy, "I was right."

There was a long pause as Buffy looked at her, still tapping her stake. Finally she said, "If you don't mind the couch, you can come back to my place."

"You sure about that?" Faith suddenly realized how her words might be taken and raised her hands in mock surrender. "I mean, you sure you want me in your house?"

To her relief, Buffy hesitated only a second. "Yeah, I do. And don't take this the wrong way, but there's the added benefit of also being able to keep an eye on you."

Faith dropped her hands. "Can't really argue with that."

The streets were still as they walked back to Revello Drive. The Summers house was dark. Buffy led her around to the back door and they slipped inside, silent as shadows. A slight shiver went through Faith as they tiptoed to the living room. The smell of the house, the homey, feminine feel of it -- it was so _Buffy_. It was all of the things Buffy had been and stood for that first year in Sunnydale, when she'd been so far out of reach.

Buffy whispered, "I'll bring you some blankets and a pillow," and glided up the stairs. A hall light came on, illuminating the stairwell in a warm yellow cone.

Faith groped for the couch. She felt too wired for sleep, but too shaky to walk around, like she might knock into something and send the whole house crashing down. She listened to the faint sounds of Buffy opening closet doors and drawers upstairs, and tried to still her hands in her lap.

After a while she heard the quiet slap of Buffy's bare feet against the floor, and Buffy's voice pitched low: "Sorry it took so long -- I was washing up. I'll set the couch up for you."

Faith stood and shuffled out of the way. She could smell Buffy's soap, clean and sharp over the faint remnants of her perfume and the soft scent of new laundry.

She backed away a little more. Her heel hit the coffee table and she swayed, reaching for balance. Quick as a fox Buffy's fingers circled her wrist, strong and bracing. She twisted her arm in Buffy's grip, wrapping her own fingers around Buffy's wrist in return.

"You okay?" Buffy murmured.

"Yeah, I'm cool."

They held onto each other for another beat, then Buffy went back to tucking sheets around the couch cushions. In the dim light from the stairwell she was just a shadow figure, her movements mysterious. The sheet cloths rustled like whispering voices.

"Buffy," Faith said, before she knew she was going to say anything. "What was it like?"

The rustling stopped. Buffy was bent over the couch, still as a statue. "What was what like?"

But suddenly Faith found it impossible to speak. The words were stuck in her throat, too heavy to be said out loud, too full.

"You want to know what it was like to be dead." Buffy sat on the couch, a small laugh escaping her. "God, that sounds so weird."

"It sounds...I mean it sounds crazy. Impossible."

"That's the power of magic, I guess."

"Not really what I meant." Faith tossed the pillow onto the couch and flung herself down beside Buffy. The energy of slaying was gone, and all she could feel was a bone-deep weariness, slowing her words. "It sounds crazy because, Buffy, when I found out you'd died it was completely fucked up. Everything after that was just _wrong_."

"I died before, you know," Buffy said quietly. "That's the whole reason you're a Slayer at all, remember?"

"But that -- " Faith searched helplessly for words, " -- wasn't the same."

"Of course not. I was a kid -- what did I know? My ultimate goal in life was to have the perfect prom night and lose my virginity to Brad Pitt."

"What do you..." Faith trailed off. She remembered a dream, not the one in Mexico, but a dream she'd had in prison: Buffy leaping into a stormcloud of light. How she'd awakened the next morning and known, known like a thunderclap hard in the sky, that Buffy had _wanted_ it.

"What?" Buffy said. "Come on, don't tiptoe around me. Not you of all people."

"I don't even know what I'm asking! You were always so fucking sure about the righteous path, like you were this goddamn superhero. I even started to think you _were_ right -- I mean I went to _prison_ \-- and then you go and kill yourself!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was supposed to stop and consider whether you'd have an existential crisis about the whole thing. I mean, I was a little busy saving the world?"

Faith leapt to her feet. "Don't give me that shit, B. You didn't have to jump and we both know it."

"You think I was just going to let my sister do it?"

"From what I heard she was never really your sister anyway!"

"God." Buffy stood up as well. "You haven't learned anything at all, have you? She _was_ my sister. She _is_. But more than that, she's a human being. You still think you can just play with people's lives like some kind of game, like it doesn't _mean_ anything for people to die as long as you still get to be the all-powerful Slayer."

"It meant something to me that _you_ died."

"It was my time. I weighed the options and I knew it, down to my bones. Slayers don't live forever. We both know that too."

"Then why are you still here?"

Their voices had been raised, not at the top of their lungs but loud enough to roll over the ache in Faith's throat, the weight of so many things unvoiced. What Buffy said next, by contrast, was a whisper, so startlingly quiet that for a second Faith thought it had come from a completely different conversation.

"What makes you think I want to be?"

"What?"

"Because I don't," Buffy said, her voice tiny, gossamer thin. "I don't want to be here. I never asked them to bring me back."

"Dying was really that much better?"

"Oh, God." Another laugh, the sound arrested halfway from a sob. "I don't know how to even _begin_ to make you understand."

Faith shook her head. She was remembering herself two years ago, begging Angel to kill her in a rain-soaked alley. Now that girl was a stranger, but she was a close-living one. "How do you know I don't already?"

"You just wanted someone to put you out of your misery. That's how I felt before. How I feel after...it's so much worse."

"But _why_?"

"Because it was _easy_." Buffy's voice had grown so soft that Faith had to move closer to hear. "Because I was happy. Because finally, I was done with all of this." She started for the stairs with a tired, shuffling step, crossing from the dark living room into the wash of light from the hall.

"Hold up," Faith said, feeling a sudden panic. "That's all you're going to say?"

Buffy turned halfway, her left side, closest to Faith, in shadow. "I could talk about it forever, but even that wouldn't be enough. And I can't put everything on pause for a heart-to-heart with you. Faith, if you want to stay here, don't push me." Buffy let that hang for a moment, then made her way up the stairs.

*

 _4\. don't burn your bridges woman cause someday_

But even as she said it, Buffy felt how hollow the threat was. Because Faith pushed anyway -- that was what Faith did. She pushed by coming into a conversation, a house, a life, looking for a drink or a good time, slaying a vampire, sleeping in the living room. Breathing.

The next morning Buffy woke early from a dreamless sleep. She blinked up at the ceiling for a moment, orienting herself and listening for noise. All was silent, but as she rose and made her way downstairs she felt a difference in the air that was undeniable, a sense of things made heavy with ominous weight. She felt she had to take a breath, letting it out slow and careful, just to prove that she could.

From the hall she peeked in at the tangle of blankets and Faith on the couch, then headed for the kitchen. The smell of coffee hit her nose. As she came through the doorway she saw Willow sitting at the counter.

"Hi," Willow said after a moment. And then, "Um, Buffy?"

"She didn't have anywhere else to stay."

Willow blinked. "Well, then I guess my next question is, why is she in Sunnydale to begin with?"

"I don't think she even knows." Avoiding Willow's eyes, Buffy grabbed a painted mug from the drying rack and poured herself some coffee. "But I know what you're thinking and -- it's not what you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"She's not here to cause trouble. She's changed, Will." Buffy marveled at the conviction in her own voice, as if she hadn't said the complete opposite just the night before.

"You didn't see her this summer. She almost stuck a crossbow through Xander's _throat_."

"Well, with me around, she won't get the chance to do it again."

Willow stood and came around the counter. "Okay, I'm registering disagreement. Vehement disagreement! I mean, Buffy, how can you trust her? This is Faith we're talking about, remember? Stole your body? Was in league with the Mayor? Wanted to help him destroy the entire town?"

Buffy squared her shoulders and tried to meet Willow's eyes without flinching. She felt tired all over again, the way Faith had said, a physical, bone-deep tired. She saw the past few months stretching behind her in one long ruinous battlefield, debris from the struggle to simply survive each day. Waking up this morning should have been a reward, a prize hard-won from yesterday. Instead she was on the defensive all over again.

"I don't trust her," she said. "But I understand her."

Willow looked hurt. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's staying here, Will." She wanted to say something else; Willow's face looked ready to crumple, and somewhere inside her it touched a distant and answering guilt.

Too distant, though. Silently, Buffy turned and went back down the hall.

Faith had shifted position on the couch, her face hidden by a fall of hair. Buffy wasn't fooled.

"You heard what I said in there?" she asked.

Faith sat up and met her eyes. "Yeah."

"Then don't make me a liar."

Anger flared on Faith's face, but quickly disappeared. She shrugged. "Wasn't planning on it."

"Good," Buffy said, and headed up the stairs.

*

The next few days brought on a strange stalemate. Not like she'd expected it to be normal, not like she knew what that even _was_ for her and Faith, but the feeling of heaviness remained. She felt the weight of it growing every day, conscious that it came from the silence she had enforced, the questions unasked and unanswered between them.

For a brief stretch, though, a few hours each night, slaying made all of that weight disappear.

Fire roaring under her skin. Faith pressing her back against Buffy's, entwining their arms and leaning forward so Buffy had leverage to kick upward and connect with the demon's head. Buffy rolled off of her, turning the spin into a pivot and a punch with power behind it. The demon swayed on its feet.

"Now!" Buffy cried, and Faith drove her sword through its gut.

"Yes!" She turned to Buffy with a savage look. And yes, _yes_ , Buffy could feel it as well. Slaying, fighting, surviving. Pain and pleasure in equal measure, the knife-edge of death.

A second demon came roaring at them. Buffy swung her axe two-handed. It was dead before it hit the ground.

"We're kicking ass, girlfriend." Faith grinned.

"How many was that?"

"Six vamps, and these two guys make three demons, after that big scaly what's-his-face by the school."

"I think that was a what's- _her_ -face, actually," Buffy said.

"No shit! How'd you figure that?"

"Because I've seen the male of the species, and believe me, the one we got was way prettier."

Faith smirked. "Gonna take your word on that one."

Buffy gripped her axe tightly and headed deeper into the cemetery. "Come on," she said.

They prowled between the gravestones, stepping like silent tigers through the overgrown grass. Out of the corner of her eye Buffy tracked Faith's movements, aware that Faith was doing the same with her. They moved in tandem, balancing each other across the darkness.

It was a strange stalemate, and she hadn't found telling the others any easier than it had been with Willow. It seemed like every year there was some business that festered between her and her friends, Angel or Spike or the Initiative, some un-crossable distance they always, eventually, resigned themselves to. It would take them a while to lick their wounds -- especially Xander -- but they'd do it. They'd do it out of guilt, if anything.

She knew Faith had had words with them about the resurrection spell. The house had become a series of corners and places just out of sight, doorways she hovered on the other side of, listening without being seen. Just the night before she'd gotten home from work and heard raised voices coming from the kitchen: Xander, who had taken to spending as much time as possible at Buffy's house -- "Consider it surveillance," he'd muttered darkly -- and Faith, who usually didn't get in his face, but only in a way that was absolutely clear who would win if she did. They'd had more than a few confrontations already, but this one, Buffy sensed from the tone, was different.

She edged closer, slipping silently down the hallway. She could make out Xander saying, " -- wouldn't know the first thing about friendship, about needing people -- "

"Bullshit. You're her friends? You got her right in front of you and you can't even see how fucked up she is."

"Like you have any idea!" Xander shouted. "You're in town what, three days, and you think you know things we don't?"

"Hell yeah, I do!"

The words broke over Buffy like water on rock, leaving her still and unmoved in their wake. She turned away, seeking the silence of her room, but as she mounted the foot of the staircase she looked up and saw Dawn sitting at the top. Her clear heavy-lidded eyes shifted to Buffy, snaring her in their grave intensity.

"So who do you agree with?" Dawn asked softly.

Instinctively, Buffy sensed the landmine in the question. "Faith's just overcompensating. She wants to be good now, you know?"

"Everyone wants to be good for you, Buffy," Dawn said.

For a brief, world-stopping moment she felt the air pressing down on her again, black and suffocating. Then the feeling passed and she was able to climb the stairs to sit next to her sister. "I know," she told her. "I appreciate that."

"It'd be nice if you said something once in a while." Dawn looked away, focusing on the front door below. "Or said anything."

"I'm trying. I've been trying."

"But is it working? I mean, I know it's not like a switch you turn on and boom, you're happy again, but I thought we were getting somewhere. Only now, after that demon thing, it's like you're right back where you started."

"It's not that simple. There isn't a progress report for this, Dawn. I'm just doing the best I can."

"But maybe I _need_ some kind of report. Maybe I can't take sitting here, watching you wish you could do it again."

Buffy looked at her hands, loosely clasped between her knees. A year ago she would have said, _Of course I'll never leave you. I'll always be here to protect you._

A year ago. But oh, the changes a year could bring.

She unclasped her hands and reached over, gently tucking a lock of hair behind Dawn's ear. "I can't tell you what's going to happen in the future," she said.

"That's not good enough." Dawn leaned away, her voice tight and unforgiving.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said helplessly.

Dawn searched her eyes for a moment more, and Buffy braced herself for another tirade of tears and recriminations. But instead, Dawn only stood up and stomped to her room.

*

Buffy thrust her stake into the vampire in front of her. Dust. Through the heatflush of fighting she sensed movement behind her that wasn't Faith. She whipped around, bringing the stake up again. Strong, cold hands caught her arm and twisted the stake in her grip, pressing it hard to the vein in her wrist.

"Watch where you're pointing that," Spike said.

Buffy struck him with her free hand, knuckles against sharp cheekbone. He cursed and let go of her, but kept the stake. She rubbed her wrist and glared at him. "What are you doing here?"

"'s a graveyard. Need you ask?"

"It's not _your_ graveyard. Your graveyard is on the other side of town."

"And?"

"Look, I'm not in the mood for this." Buffy crossed her arms. "What are you up to?"

"Gettin' some air, all right?"

"Vampires don't breathe."

Annoyance crossed his face. "Look, piss off. I've a right to go where I want to. I'm not hurting anyone."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Keep gettin' in my face, though, and I might change my mind," Spike muttered. He turned to where Faith was just finishing off her vamp a few yards away. "Heard she was back in town," he said, and by way of explanation, "Demon network."

Buffy studied him, something occurring to her. "If all the demons know there's another Slayer here, why aren't they making themselves scarce? Every night it's been like looking for needles in a...stack of needles."

"Half of them think she was scared off last summer. Almost got killed by a nest of vamps in that old building the Mayor owned."

Faith had caught sight of them and was walking over, wariness in the lines of her body.

"She beat them, though."

Spike shrugged. "The other half were here when the Mayor Ascended. They don't think she's changed at all."

For a moment Buffy pictured Spike gossiping with a circle of old-lady demons in a cruddy card game, a basket of kittens on the table in front of them. Her skin crawled. "And how many do we have to go through before they start figuring out they're wrong?"

He looked at her, dark gaze assessing. She crossed her arms over her chest, then quickly dropped them back to her sides again. "You complaining? Thought it'd make you feel like the good little Slayer again, killing as many demons as possible."

Faith had reached them by then, twirling a stake with casual grace. "William the Bloody. We meet again." Her fingers on the stake went still and she rested her hands on her hips, eyes glittering dangerously.

Standing beside Spike, Buffy felt the tension pulsing from him in waves of cold, realized he was struggling not to lash out. She tried to ignore the weird sexual shiver it sent through her. "You meet again?" she asked.

Spike's face was waxlike. Faith's lips spread in a sunny smile. "Well, you could say we were never properly introduced, but yeah, William and I go way back."

"Don't call me that," he grated.

"And you're gonna do, what about it? 'cause if you _want_ to take it back to where we left off, I'm up for another tumble."

"Faith, don't," Buffy said. "Spike's off-limits."

He whirled on her. She took an involuntary step back, and was immediately angry at herself. "I don't need your protection!" he snarled, at the same time Faith said, "What, you're protecting _Spike_?"

She watched his face close up again, papering over his fury with that smooth white skin, mouth clenching tight. She'd kissed that mouth, let that mouth kiss her, let it do things to her that she still thought about with a flush of heat. "I'm not protecting you," she said, or thought she said -- Spike had already turned on his heel and was stalking off into the darkness.

"Want to tell me what the hell's going on?" Faith said, not really asking, not in the sense that it was a question where "no" was an acceptable answer.

"It's complicated," Buffy began, slowly.

"Thought you'd've learned your lesson with Angel." Faith's voice was deceptively calm, but Buffy could hear the undercurrents in it. "But I guess nobody really learns anything in this goddamn town. Not even me."

Confused, Buffy said, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. What you do with Spike is your own business." Faith shrugged and headed for the cemetery's exit.

"I'm not doing anything with Spike."

"Not anymore."

Buffy moved fast, grabbing Faith's shoulder and pulling her back around. "What do you know?"

Faith leaned close, touched a finger to her temple and then to Buffy's. "That Slayer thing, remember? Where I can't get you out of my dreams?" Her tone was jeering, but her eyes were dark, like openings into the earth.

"You mean you dreamed about...?" Buffy's stomach lurched.

"Kinky, huh? Not quite as kinky as fucking the undead."

"Oh, God. What else did you see?"

"What, now you wanna talk? Make sure which dirty little secrets I know before you tell me to shut my mouth again? Fuck you, B." Faith yanked out of her grasp and kept walking.

Buffy felt her legs weakening beneath her and stumbled over to a flat tombstone, sat down on it. She watched as Faith slammed through the iron gates of the cemetery, sending them swinging the wrong way around to clatter against the stone pillars on either side.

*

 _5\. It's a broken kind of feeling_

The first year Faith was in Sunnydale the Bronze had always been the place to break the night open. The bartender passed her a shot of tequila and a beer chaser. She threw back the shot, gulped the beer before her throat could recover and rebel. Another shot, another. The alcohol seared her brain; after the fifth one she felt her perceptions unhinge and blinked. The colored lights got brighter, sharper, the room slightly fuzzy in contrast. On numb feet, Faith waded onto the dance floor.

She ignored the boys, typical Sunnydale boys moving up to sniff her like dogs scoping the territory, and made a beeline for a short blonde dancing by herself. Wrapped her fingers around the girl's arm, just above the elbow, pulling her forward.

The girl gazed up at her with velvety blue eyes and licked her lips with a pink tongue. She looked drunk as well, her smile spreading widely as Faith swirled their hips together in a slow, seductive circle.

She thought about leaning forward to kiss that bow-shaped mouth, to slip her own tongue inside and taste the residue of whatever fruity cocktails the girl had been sipping. But something restrained her. Her eyes slid past the girl's face to scan the crowd. People dancing, moving around, looking for action. They were so much younger than her, she realized through the alcoholic haze. She felt centuries old in comparison, the generations in her blood setting her apart like an ancient, unspeakable creature.

Faith raised her eyes to the balcony overlooking the dance floor and saw a vampire, watching her with a feline grin.

He knew who she was. He knew _what_ she was.

Faith detached herself from the girl and made her way toward the stairs. The liquor swirled in her head like an amber snake. Beneath her hand the railing was cold and smooth.

"Slayer," the vampire said, smirking. "I came to see if it was really you."

He had the same pale white skin as Spike, the same humming seductive energy. He was old, countless years and kills behind him, maybe even a brush with a Slayer or two. The way he looked at her it seemed his eyes could tell her volumes about herself.

"Well, you found me," she said. "But I don't think you're gonna like me all that much."

"Maybe after a dance?"

She almost laughed. She remembered a time when she'd danced with vamps before dusting them, so sure that with Kakistos, she'd already faced the worst the demon world had to offer. "Sorry," she said now, squaring her stance. "I don't mix business with pleasure."

"That's not what I hear." The vampire leered, his teeth long and bright. "But I could be mistaken. It could be they were talking about the other one. Maybe I would have liked her better?"

The shock of punching him shattered her buzz and traveled all the way up to the top of her skull. The vampire flew backwards and knocked into a table. Shrieks pierced the air as drinks upended and spilled, then turned to screams as the vampire rose, snarling and gamefaced.

She went at him before he'd fully regained his feet. Around them the crowd cleared as people darted toward the stairs. In Boston they would have circled and chanted for a barfight. In Sunnydale, they knew better.

The vampire was good but she understood in half a minute that he'd never come up against a Slayer. She sensed he could move faster than he was, that he was surprised by her own speed and hadn't yet found a chance to recover. She had time to wonder why he'd sought her out before she snatched up a chair, smashed it to pieces, and shoved a length of wood into his heart. He fell into dust on top of a puddle of spilled alcohol, soaking into mush.

She stepped over the puddle and pushed through the stragglers on the stairs. Each face turned quickly away from her and then back again as she passed, like turtles hiding in shells.

*

The house was not empty. It was dark and it was late, but Faith could sense the tension in the air as she slipped around to the back porch. Climbing the steps silently, she peeked into the kitchen through the slats in the blinds and saw Buffy leaning against the counter beneath the sink light, her face in shadow.

She opened the door and went inside. Buffy looked up as Faith came around the center counter and stopped, looking back at her calmly.

"So," Faith said. "Wanna talk now?"

"Actually, I don't." Buffy straightened. "What happened between me and Spike -- I know you disagree with it, but people need to stop disagreeing with me about _my_ life."

"I disagree because somebody hijacked my dreams with the Spike and Buffy Playboy Channel! Best I can come up with is some higher power out there either has a really perverted sense of humor, or they thought maybe I could smack a brain back into you."

"I thought I made it clear," Buffy said, and her voice was cold. "I don't need you to do anything for me."

"Yeah, because you're doing _such_ a bang-up job yourself."

"My decisions are my own."

"Same old thing. Nothing you do is ever wrong."

"Don't start with that again." Buffy was shaking her head in that way that always made Faith want to put her fist through a wall. "I make mistakes. I make bad choices. But I don't need _you_ , of all people, to tell me what those are."

"Fine," Faith said. "You don't need me, I don't need to be here, either."

"What, you want to leave?"

"Got it in one, B." She pivoted and headed down the hall. Buffy followed her into the living room. "You helping me pack?"

"This is so -- God, would you just, explain to me why this is such a big deal to you?"

"Why don't you explain to me why you suddenly give a shit what I think? I mean, the whole time I've been here it's been, I don't want to talk about this, I'm not gonna talk about that.... So maybe you're just putting up with me 'cause I've got your back on patrols. Well, thanks, but no thanks, I'd rather do my own thing. That way I don't have to _pretend_ I'm not working solo."

"I didn't call you and I didn't promise you anything when you got here. Don't get pissed at me just because you need somebody to talk to."

"So not my issue, B. For once I've got my shit together better than you do." Faith grabbed her duffel bag and started stuffing clothes into it. "Anyway, if you didn't promise me anything, what do you care?"

"Obviously I care -- "

She threw the duffel bag down, clothes scattering on the rug. "No, it's not obvious! Nothing is obvious with you! You're a fucking closed door about _everything_!"

"You think that's how I am now?" Buffy's eyes flashed. "What was I when I was _dead_? I didn't ask for this. All I wanted -- all I _want_ \-- is for people to leave me alone."

Faith crossed her arms again, shifted her weight to one leg. "I didn't have anything to do with bringing you back. If you're still so fucking pissed about it, take it to the people who deserve it."

"I can't, don't you get it? I'm supposed to be grateful, I'm supposed to be _happy_. They still haven't even accepted what they did -- they think it's something I can just forgive and forget, like they left the toilet seat up or put the milk back empty. Tell me what I could possibly say to them when I _know_ they wouldn't be able to handle it."

"Have you even tried?"

"I heard you arguing with them. You saw how they were."

"Like they'd admit to _me_ they were wrong."

Buffy shook her head wearily. It reminded Faith of the first night she'd arrived: the tired strength in her, bare of all softness; the dry, brittle quality of her voice. "You know what the real problem is?" Buffy said now. "The fact that I'd have to _make_ them understand. That they couldn't just see, by themselves, that it was my time. That it was wrong to take that away from me." She looked up, and her eyes were wet with tears.

It sent a strange feeling through Faith, like someone had touched the back of her neck with an ice cube. She realized she couldn't remember ever seeing Buffy cry. She remembered Buffy telling her in L.A. that she'd made her feel like a victim. She hadn't believed a word of it. Buffy, a victim? Buffy, vulnerable? It was shocking, now, to finally think it was possible. And perhaps even more shocking that Buffy was letting her see it.

She uncrossed her arms, not sure what to do with her hands, feeling like the most visible thing in the room. "Buffy..." she began.

The tears overflowed and Buffy sank to the floor, curling her small body in the pile of Faith's discarded clothes. "What do you want from me?" she said, her voice trembling. "I did everything I could -- why wasn't that enough for you?"

She said it as if she were speaking to a room at large rather than to a single person. But her eyes were focused solely on Faith, huge and round and pleading. Faith swallowed and forced herself to move.

Buffy's shoulder was thin and fragile to the touch, her skin smooth, chilly. Faith let her fingers spread over the slender bone, thought about the magic powering the flesh, the same as in her own. She slid her hand up the side of Buffy's neck, fitting the heel of her palm to Buffy's jaw line. A tear fell down to sting her wrist.

"I don't want anything more from you," she said.

Buffy whispered, "Don't you?"

The floor was hard on her knees; a seam from one of her shirts dug into the ligaments as she leaned forward. She felt the muscles in her stomach tighten, a fluttering sensation in her ribs as she pressed her mouth to Buffy's.

It took all the control she possessed to pull back after a moment, to hold herself still as she waited for Buffy to respond. A stretch of infinite time passed, and then Buffy's lips parted, her breath trembling on a sigh.

"Don't stop," she said.

Her tongue was a quick-glimpsed taste as Faith kissed her again. Her mouth was cool but soon warmed. Faith brought her other hand up to Buffy's jaw, cupping her face. She felt Buffy's arms sliding around her, pulling her down.

They twisted together so they lay on their sides, hands already in motion. Buffy moved like she'd done this before, like she knew exactly what she wanted. Her fingers slid up Faith's torso to clutch at her breasts, and she pushed her thigh between Faith's legs, against her sex. Faith brought her own hands to Buffy's hips, wanting to draw her closer somehow, or else hold her in place.

Sex for Faith had always been a study in roughness, but Buffy was different, soft and silky in ways Faith found mysterious and foreign. In turn she felt herself becoming liquid and pliant; she let Buffy push her onto her back, unbutton her shirt. Closing her eyes, she drew in a shaky breath as Buffy kissed the curves of her breasts, tonguing her nipples erect.

"What do you want?" Buffy said again, her mouth warm and soft.

Faith opened her eyes and rolled Buffy beneath her. She searched her face, the dried tears on her cheeks, the careful expression still guarding her thoughts. She'd wanted to break that door open for so long, smash it to pieces and haul out whatever secrets Buffy had harbored inside. "What do _you_ want?" she asked.

Buffy didn't answer in words. And even as Buffy allowed her this, even as she freed Buffy of her clothes and began to kiss her way down the smooth, taut slope of Buffy's stomach, Faith couldn't shake the weight of that silence.

*

At dawn she wandered out to the back porch to sit. The steps were chilly and wet with dew. Past the scraggly line of trees in the yard the sun had turned the sky a pale orange.

She was clutching a half-empty pack of cigarettes, scavenged from the bottom of her duffel bag. It was slightly bent, God knew how old. Faith shook out a cigarette, stuck it in her mouth and lit the end with a match from the Summers' kitchen, drawing in deep.

She should just go, she thought. Not like she was a stranger to fading out the door the morning after, but if she'd ever had any more of a reason to do so than now, she couldn't remember it. She was conscious of the house looming behind her, Buffy curled upstairs on her bed where Faith had left her.

She took another drag from the cigarette, the smoke filling her throat. Rolled her shoulders, stretching out the aches and tightness. She should go, down the steps, around the house, hit the street with nothing but the clothes on her back and half a dozen smokes. Last time she'd booked with just a shopping bag full of stakes, and that had been at dawn as well.

She liked this place so much better in the daytime, growing smaller in the distance.

Slayer sense kicked in just before the back door opened. Faith didn't turn around.

"Got another one?" Buffy said into the quiet.

Muting her surprise, Faith handed the pack over. Buffy sat beside her on the porch steps, her legs golden in plaid boxer shorts.

They smoked in silence. Faith finished hers first. Ignoring the urge to look up at Buffy, she bent over the cigarette stub, her fingers worrying the paper off the filter.

"I'm not going to ask you to stay," Buffy said.

Well, that was something. Faith kept her eyes on her hands. "Figured you wouldn't."

"And I'm not going to tell you what last night was all about, either. I mean, it probably meant something different to you than it did to me, and I -- "

"How would you know what it meant to me?"

She felt Buffy shrug beside her. "I just said it probably meant something different."

"I'm not Spike, B." A savage pleasure went through her as Buffy flinched.

"Don't start. Spike has zero to do with this."

"Don't start." Faith snorted and scooped the shredded remains of the cigarette into her palm. She stood, finally looking into Buffy's eyes. "Guess I don't have any room to talk. If I really didn't want to be Spike, there wouldn't _be_ any last night, would there?"

Buffy stood too. "I don't want to get into this. I just came out here to tell you you're free to do whatever you want."

"Thanks for the endorsement," Faith sneered, "but I kinda always have been."

"You know, I envy that. I really do. You breeze in and out of this town without a care in the world, you switch sides back and forth and you don't care how many people you run over as long as you get what you want. Me, I have to look after people, I have to guard the world against demons and vampires and an annual apocalypse. I have all these responsibilities which, unlike you, I can't run from."

"Oh, so what do you call jumping, huh?"

She could see Buffy beginning to tremble, the way she always did when infused with righteous anger. "I told you, don't start with me."

"Sorry if I don't like getting oh-woe-is-me speeches stuffed down my throat. Last I checked, you weren't the only Slayer running around Sunnydale."

"I'm the only one who stays here." Buffy's voice shook. "I'm the only one who can't leave."

"If you asked me to," Faith said, "I _would_ stay."

"But that's just it. You have a choice about it. No one asks _me_ , and if they did, they wouldn't listen, would they?"

" _I'm_ listening to you."

Buffy stepped closer. Her eyes were golden-green, like murky water that gave back the sun and nothing else. The scent of her wafted between them, sleep-filled and laced with smoke, and underneath that, something leftover from the night before. Softly, she said, "It doesn't matter whether I want you to stay. I wouldn't want to be able to make you, anyway. That's the difference between you and me."

"There shouldn't be any difference," Faith said, her throat hoarse.

Buffy leaned forward. Her kiss was feathery soft. "Just another thing we don't have a choice about."

*

 _6\. Life is what you make it_

It was possible she was being a bit reckless on patrols. In a fight with multiple vamps Buffy would often try to draw more of them toward her, sometimes getting herself backed into corners by teeth and claws, usually saved by nothing more than Faith's good timing. They would finish off the rest of the vamps together, and as the dust cleared Faith would shoot her an assessing look.

She kept her peace, though. She was a Slayer, after all, not a Watcher.

Giles would have done something. Would have tried, anyway, if he hadn't already given up, but she couldn't even remember the last time they'd spoken.

She and Faith were on patrol again, split up amongst rows of gravestones. Buffy gripped her axe in both hands, senses alert for signs of impending attack.

She'd just realized Faith had disappeared from sight when a roar blasted through the darkness. Breaking into a run, she skidded around a statue to find Faith struggling with a huge scaly-headed demon, swearing at the top of her voice. Her arm was caught between its jaws. She was using her other hand to stab unsuccessfully with her stake.

Buffy swung her axe into the demon's hamstring. It stumbled from the blow but quickly straightened and whirled around, jaws still clamped on Faith's arm, glaring down at Buffy with reptilian yellow eyes.

"Let go of her!" Buffy shouted.

Abruptly, the demon did. Faith fell to the ground clutching her arm. Buffy got a sickening glimpse of blood spurting between her fingers.

The demon roared, "SLAY-ERRR! SLAY-ERRR!"

"Got that right," said Buffy. "Two-for-one special tonight."

Pivoting as the demon lunged, she swung the axe and caught one of its claws against a headstone. It bellowed, gnashing its teeth in pain. Something thick and dark flowed from the stump, dripping over "Hamish Jameson, 1875-1948." Smoke hissed where it made contact.

Buffy circled, hefting the axe, looking for another opening. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Faith struggling weakly in the grass. She met the demon's next charge with a swing to its belly, then hit the ground and rolled under its outstretched arm, coming up already in motion.

Skittering away through the gravestones, trying to lead it farther from Faith, Buffy noticed she'd gotten some of its blood on the hem of her jeans. Her eyes widened. The fabric was smoking, dissolving.

"SLAY-ERRR!" the demon cried behind her.

"Hello, we're moving this way now!" she shouted. "Pay attention."

She could hear it panting like a freight train, gaining on her with its long-limbed stride. She threw a look over her shoulder to gauge its distance, and when she turned back almost ran headfirst into Spike.

"Slayer, you really need to stop followin' me round," he snarked. "It's gettin' downright pathetic."

"Demon!" Buffy panted. "Big demon!"

Spike glanced past her. "Bloody hell. Run."

"That's what I was _doing_!" she snapped, but by then it was on them.

She swung hard, but her aim was wild and the demon countered with a swipe that knocked her into a gravestone. As she pushed herself upright again Spike leapt at the demon with a flying kick, but succeeded only in bouncing off like a tennis ball.

"What the hell is it?" she shouted at him.

"Nagorsa demon." Spike scrambled to his feet. "Pretty much unkillable without explosives."

"Great. Just what I like to hear when I'm getting my ass kicked."

"SLAY-ERRR!"

"You know," Spike said, "it doesn't seem to have much beef with me. How about I let you and Godzilla sort the matter out between yourselves?"

"Fine." She glared at Spike. "Take Faith back to the house. She's hurt."

"Help that psychotic bint? She can rot for all I care."

Buffy ducked a massive gnarled arm. "Kind of not in the mood to argue with you right now. So either help Faith or shut up and get out of the way."

"That demon's not the only thing out for Slayer blood. You need backup."

"What I need -- " She ducked again, came up and hewed at the Nagorsa's kneecap like it was a tree. " -- is for you to do less -- talking -- and more -- fighting!"

Spike attempted to block a blow from the demon and went sprawling. "Can't you ever fight anythin' normal?"

She turned to fix him with another glare and the Nagorsa connected with the side of her head. The blow made her stumble. Blood trickled down her cheek.

A small inner voice whispered, _You could stop, you know. Let it kill you. All it would take is one stroke. There wouldn't even be any pain._ Heaviness spread through her legs, the weapon in her hands. She could feel it dragging her down, wanted to lie on the ground and let the demon do its worst.

"Buffy!" Spike shouted. " _Buffy_!"

She blinked, shook her head and squared her shoulders. The Nagorsa charged forward. Buffy spun, swung the axe, and felt the blade separate flesh.

She leaped back before the blood could splash onto her clothes, but to her surprise the demon recoiled and stumbled backward as well. The timbre of its roar had definitely changed into more of a pained bark. She saw that she had gotten it deep in the belly this time.

After a moment of hesitation, the demon turned and lumbered off into the trees, wailing at the top of its voice.

Cold fingers touched her temple, fingering the wound. Spike. "What the hell is wrong with you? You were gonna let that thing take your head off!"

Buffy jerked away. "You said there are more out there after me? What did you mean?"

"I told you. Evil Slayer in town's got everyone's knickers in a twist."

"That's a stupid reason."

"Nobody ever said demons were the brightest lot." Spike narrowed his eyes. "Course, it's not all on her account."

"You mean some of it's because of me? Why?"

He edged up closer, putting his cold hands on her hips and drawing them up her sides. "Well, love, they know what I know, what you know." His voice made her shiver. "They can sense it."

She held perfectly still, but forced herself to meet his eyes. "Sense _what_?"

"That something about you's not right," he sneered.

She struck before she knew she was going to.

Spike's head snapped to the side, and when he turned back to her blood stained his lip. His eyes were like dark coals. "To hell with you, then," he said, his voice chilly, and let go of her. He peeled off through the shadows, bleached hair the only part of him visible.

She counted to ten, slowly, until the shivers went away.

*

The smell of blood hit Buffy like a fist to the face as she slung Faith's good arm over her shoulders. Faith managed to get her feet under herself, but her legs crumpled almost immediately. "Fuck." She sounded hoarse, her breathing too shallow.

"You lost a lot of blood," Buffy told her. "Can you walk?"

"Just gimme a minute."

After a long pause that had Buffy looking uneasily over her shoulder, Faith's weight shifted away. She swayed a bit, but there was a mulish, angry set to her jaw now and she took a shaky step forward.

"Hold onto me," Buffy said, putting her hand on Faith's elbow.

"Nope." Faith shook her off and took another step. She held her injured arm close to her torso, against her stomach.

"Don't be stupid -- you're hurt."

"B, get the hell offa me."

"Fine." Buffy looked at her without expression. "Can you run? Because that demon could decide to come back for seconds like any minute now."

"Don't need my arm to run, do I?"

"Fine," Buffy said again. "Let's go."

They made their way through the dark streets, Faith sometimes deliberately getting ahead of Buffy, her face a pale, stubborn moon. Buffy kept a watchful eye out, mindful of Spike's warnings, but nothing bothered them.

Willow's eyes widened when they stumbled through the front door. "What happened?"

"Something big with a lot of teeth. And also, acid for blood." Buffy raised her foot so Willow could see the hem of her pants.

"Do you need help?"

Faith snorted and headed up the stairs.

"I think we're okay," Buffy said. "Just need a little patching up." She glanced around the quiet house. "Is Dawn asleep?"

"She's camping with Amy, remember?"

"Sure," Buffy lied. Although now that she thought about it, it seemed like she hadn't seen Dawn in days. Not since they'd spoken on the stairs.

In the upstairs bathroom Faith stuck her injured arm under the sink faucet, her face tightening as the water washed away blood and grime. "Motherfucker," she said as the ragged pattern of teeth marks became discernible. "Hope you made him _hurt_ , B."

"Here." Buffy wrapped a couple of washcloths around the injury and secured them in place with medical tape. She studied Faith, not liking the bluish tint to her lips and eyelids. "You okay?"

"Been through worse."

Buffy examined her own small wounds, cleaning them up as best she could. She tongued a cut on her lip where the rough skin had a slight blood tang. "You can have my bed tonight," she said. "It'd probably be more comfortable than the couch."

"I'm okay crashing there." Faith's eyes in the mirror were unreadable. "Anyway, wouldn't want to kick you out of your spot."

"Who says you would be?" Buffy headed for the hallway.

Faith followed, weaving slightly. She let Buffy help remove her shirt and jeans, bruises and scrapes marring the uncovered skin. Buffy undressed as well, standing naked in front of Faith where she perched on the edge of the bed.

She slid a surprisingly steady hand up Faith's side, skirting past the nasty edges of a cut. The flesh was warmer near Faith's breast, chilly at the curve of her waist.

"Will I hurt you?" Buffy asked.

A look of surprise skated across Faith's face, quickly schooled. "No," she said, and pulled Buffy onto the bed.

Responding in kind, Buffy was aggressive in her explorations. There always seemed to be so much _more_ of Faith, the way she boldly took up space that didn't belong to her, the way she moved as if she'd never learned what it was to be still. Buffy swept her hands over Faith's full breasts, trying to contain the spill of them. She leaned her weight into Faith, licked her jaw where it met her throat, pushed a finger into her and felt how slick she was inside. Pulled out again and spread the wetness, working between Faith's legs the way she liked to do to herself.

Faith began to writhe, and Buffy laid her forearm over the top of Faith's chest to hold her down as she came.

And then before she knew it Faith had broken free of her grip, Slayer strength flaring up, sliding down the bed to press her mouth between Buffy's legs. White fire flashed from the point of contact. Buffy gasped for air that had grown suddenly thin, every muscle in her body clenched to meet the motions of Faith's tongue. She felt a deeper tightening, almost to the point of pain, until finally the orgasm scraped out of her and she lifted away from Faith still shaking with the aftershocks.

Later, they discovered Faith's arm was bleeding again. Buffy got up to get a fresh washcloth. As she fastened it in place she said casually, "Spike says the whole town's gunning for us."

"That's nothin' new." Faith lay back against the pillows with a grunt. "Why, you worried?"

"Nah." Buffy shrugged. "If something kills me Willow'll just bring me back."

"Nice you're getting a sense of humor about the whole thing." Faith grimaced.

"It comes and goes," Buffy admitted. She paused for a moment on the edge of the bed, then stretched out next to Faith, surprising herself by reaching to stroke her cheek. It was cool under her touch. "So I guess you're not worried either."

"Nope," Faith said, yawning, her voice slow and slurred. "'sides, if it's my time, it's my time."

"Yeah," Buffy whispered, but Faith was already asleep.

*

She was a little afraid Faith wouldn't wake up, that the blood loss would turn out to be fatal. It'd certainly be ironic, Faith being the one to actually stick the landing, Buffy left behind to welcome yet another Slayer answering the call. Everyone but her following the natural order of things, everyone but her doing what they were supposed to do.

But in the morning Faith was awake before she was, and Buffy dragged herself out of bed to get ready for work.

As she opened the front door, Willow called out from the dining room where she was working. "How's Faith?"

"She's okay." Buffy paused, one foot on the threshold. "She's getting breakfast right now."

"Good." Willow trailed off, then seemed to steel herself. "And how are you?"

The question struck Buffy as funny, and she laughed. A stricken look crossed Willow's face and Buffy tried to cover up. "I'm sorry. It's just weird. You live here now and we never see each other."

"Well, it kind of seems like you want it that way," Willow said slowly.

"I'm sorry." Buffy looked away. "Sometimes I just need to be by myself."

"Except when you need to be with Faith?" Willow hurried to continue. "I'm not judging. I just, I mean, _we_ just, want to know that you're okay, and you're -- well, I guess happy is the wrong word, but I guess that you're not _un_ happy. That you're not, you know, thinking that you'd like to be...somewhere else." She stopped abruptly, so that the two words seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Something inside Buffy clenched at the words, a cloud compressing into thunder. "I know," she said. "I just need some time."

"And I get that, I do. It's just been _months_ already and -- Buffy, you know, we only brought you back because we thought we were doing the right thing."

"But it wasn't," Buffy said. She was surprised at herself, a distant sort of surprise, like watching a movie play out in slow motion. The words came unbidden, independent of her. She couldn't have stopped them even if she'd wanted to.

"What?" Willow's voice faltered.

"It wasn't the right thing. And you knew it before you did it, Will."

"But -- " Tears sparked in Willow's eyes. "You could have been in some hell dimension, or worse. We were trying to save you."

"No, Will." Buffy shook her head. "You knew it was wrong."

"But how could we know _anything_ , the way you just _left_ us -- "

Buffy didn't answer right away. She looked into Willow's eyes, past the tears, and realized there was nothing left to say. She was finished, her long-held anger nothing more than a ghost attempting to breathe. What was the point, anyway? They had done it. It was done.

"Buffy?"

"It doesn't matter," Buffy finally. "What matters is what you know _now_. It was wrong, Will. There was no way you could have saved me." Not waiting for Willow's response, she stepped outside and shut the door behind her.

*

Faith was a blur in the darkness, but the feel of her was tangible, real, solid. Buffy ran her hands over Faith's smooth muscled flesh, palming the curves of breast and hip, the juncture between her thighs, letting the desire she awakened in Faith fuel her own. It came from the same place anyway, she thought, this shared pleasure. So much about them came from the same place: strength, power, speed, purpose. Even as enemies they had fit together like two hands of the same person. Why not here as well?

In the early morning hours when they stumbled back home -- there seemed to be vampires out right up until sunrise nowadays -- Faith would hang back slightly, at the bottom of the stairs. Buffy would pause part of the way up, glancing over her shoulder, then take Faith's hand to pull her the rest of the way.

They would close the bedroom door behind them, shutting out the encroaching morning, warming the cold bed with their bodies, Faith's skilled hands and mouth and Buffy learning from her new methods of pleasure, of being pleased.

And it _was_ different than it had been with Spike. Instead of fighting an ocean for air it was like drifting into shore with the tide. She felt cleaner somehow, each climax draping her body in white, airy light.

Beneath her hands she felt Faith tighten, arching and moving against her. She heard her name gasped out, breathy and broken. Then, after a moment, Faith reached for her and settled into returning the pleasure.

But it wasn't the same. Usually this act, this sharing, was a lifting of things, like something heavy and unwanted was passing from her, if only for a short time. Yet in her mind she saw the Nagorsa, and she was dragged down again by that same weighty, unshakeable exhaustion. Like she'd felt so many days and nights since waking up alive.

"What's the matter?" Faith whispered.

"Nothing. I'm just kinda tired."

Faith pressed a kiss to the side of her breast. "Talk to me, B."

"I said it's nothing." She turned onto her side, her back to Faith. "Let's just go to sleep, okay?"

Faith let out a short, sharp breath. "Right. You stop in the middle of a fuck, but it's nothing."

"I'm sorry if I don't measure a crisis by how deep I am into sex."

"That's not what I'm -- why do you always have to shit on everything?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You spend, what, five minutes in heaven and now you can't even deal with normal everyday _talk_ \-- like you're the only person who's _been_ through things."

"Stop it." Buffy got out of bed, searching for her clothes.

"Stop what? Stop telling you the truth?"

"Just _stop_. Stop pushing, stop thinking that just because we're doing _this_ \-- " she motioned in the dark at the bed, even though Faith couldn't see " -- things are suddenly different between us."

Her voice had risen, and on the last word there was a silence in which she could sense Faith processing what had been said, or maybe just waiting like she was, waiting for words, any words, to fall into the emptiness and fill it with noise. She stared hard at the pale shadow of Faith's face, willing her to speak.

The sheets rustled. Quietly, Faith said, "Nothing ever changes between us."

"No," Buffy replied. "It just doesn't change the way you want it to."

"Same thing."

"Can you deal with that?"

"I don't know yet," Faith said, but when Buffy came back to the bed, she reached out a hand to draw her in.

*

 _7\. And if you make it death_

Later, remembering, Faith thought it all started going to shit the night Spike caught her coming out of the smoke shop. It was shit anyway, no matter how she tried to spin it, but it wasn't until Spike's cold hand clamped around her arm and dragged her into an alley that she came face to face with the fact.

She landed a blow on his jaw, but he let go and darted out of her reach. "Easy, pet, save that for the end of the date."

"The fuck do you want?"

"Just to talk for a bit. Something you need to hear."

"Yeah, well, if I recall, last time you and I met up in a place like this things didn't go all that well for you." She smacked her fist into her palm. "Maybe you shoulda learned from the experience."

"Maybe you should take your own advice."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, crossing his arms, "that even if she won't listen to me, you should. Almost had to be shipped out of this town in pieces last summer, idn't that right, Slayer?"

She swung at him again, aiming to wipe the nasty smirk off his bony face. He blocked her easily.

"I've been warning her," he said. "I'm warning you now. Last summer was a walk in the bloody daffodils compared to what they have planned for you. Both of you."

"And just how much of that is 'cause of you, I wonder?"

He shook his head. "You need me."

"Actually, I don't think _Buffy_ needs _you_ at all anymore."

"You're gonna need someone, anyway."

Suddenly there were a thousand possible hiding places in the shadows strewn around the alley. "Fuck off," she said loudly. "And while you're at it, get over your little Slayer obsession already."

"There's only one Slayer I care about." His eyes bored into her. "And as far as what she needs, well, it'll be a lot more than just you."

Faith straightened and met his gaze, unflinching. "You undead piece of shit. Get out of my face, before I make you a pile of dust."

He sneered at her. "Maybe you'll get there before me."

*

She tried to shake it off, but the truth was, he'd spooked her. Things had changed. She'd known it from the moment she'd seen Buffy again, known it like the change of a sunset. It made her uneasy, and that was a change, too. Never in her life had she worried about _Buffy_.

Lately it felt like the only thing between Buffy and a pile of dust was the time she took to find a fight. It was different from Faith's first year in Sunnydale, when Buffy had always seemed to be holding something back, distracted by Angel or college applications or new Watchers. She'd never seen Buffy totally focused on slaying until they'd both been trying to kill each other.

She used to think Buffy had no idea what slaying was about, the way it got into your blood, every night thrumming with danger, coiling tighter and tighter until the final explosion of dust. Now she wondered if maybe Buffy knew it even better than she did.

Knowing herself back then, she wondered if there was really anything she could do about it.

*

"Usually this is the point where I say something clever," Buffy quipped. "But I feel like it might be lost on you. Considering, you know, _you_."

In response the headless demon stumbled forward, bounced off a statue, and promptly collapsed.

After a moment Faith toed the corpse gingerly. "Fucked up," she pronounced. "How the hell was it still standing?"

"It's kind of like a chicken. Or that's how Giles explained it to me the first time I killed one. You know, you cut off the head, it runs around the yard until it finally figures out the situation."

Faith glanced around the cemetery. "Where do you think the head got to?"

"I think it dissolves or something as soon as you chop it off. Just look out for a big puddle of goo."

"Great."

"So where to next? We've still got a few hours till sunrise."

Grinning, Faith stepped forward. "Well, I was thinking maybe we could call it a night...."

Buffy allowed Faith to back her against a gravestone and mouth her neck for one slow, blood-firing moment before lightly shrugging away. "Vamps are still on the move. A few hours is a lot of dust." She threw the last line over her shoulder, already moving toward the exit.

It happened so fast Faith barely had time to react.

She saw a pale blur as Spike shot through the cemetery gates. He was shouting something, but she couldn't hear it over the sudden roar that shattered the night.

Vampires were pouring from the shadows. Snarling like dogs, they fanned out into a circle, cutting off paths of flight. Some of them carried weapons. In their midst the Nagorsa demon barreled forward with an angry cry.

"SLAY-ERRR!"

"Run!" She could hear Spike now. "RUN!" A pile of vamps descended on him and he disappeared in a rain of fists.

"Spike!" Buffy broke toward the skirmish. Faith unlocked her own feet and went to follow, but the circle tightened. They drew up short, staring around at a wall of fangs.

"Okay, you win," Buffy muttered. "We should have called it a night."

" _Now_ you start listening to me."

At the edge of the pack, the Nagorsa roared and brandished its claws. She felt Buffy's hand press against hers briefly, caught a glimpse of her eyes, calm and unafraid. "Don't get lost," she said. Then Buffy moved away again, finding space to maneuver.

"Same to you."

Faith clutched her stake so tightly she felt the wood creak in her fist. Heart crashing against her ribs, she turned so that she and Buffy were back to back.

One of the vamps stepped forward. "Slayers."

"That's us," Buffy said. "Looks like you guys are having a party."

"That's right." The vampire nodded, licking his fangs with a wide grin. "A Slayer-killing party."

"How original." Quick as a whip, Buffy notched her crossbow and let fly with a wooden arrow. The vampire burst into dust. "Mind if we crash?"

Another roar went up through the night. The vampires attacked.

There was no pause, no rest. They came on in an endless flood, gameface everywhere. Faith fought in a storm of bodies, lashing out at anything that moved. Blood thundered through her. She was on fire, didn't know who was where, how many vamps she managed to dust. At some point she lost her stake and picked up an axe one of them had dropped. That did even more damage, separating heads from necks, limbs from bodies. She heard herself screaming above the din, her fear and fury tearing out of her throat.

She saw Buffy out of the corner of her eye, grappling with the Nagorsa and five vamps at once, and later, Spike on his feet again, finishing off a pair.

Faith stumbled through a hailstorm of blows. She was thrown against a statue, knocked to the ground. In her mouth she tasted dirt and blood and ashes. The skin of her knuckles was split open on teeth and bone.

She felt a strong, desperate grip on her shoulder, heard Spike rasping in her ear, "Get up -- stupid bint -- she needs you."

Standing felt like trying to lift a brick wall with her back. Immediately a vampire came rushing forward, only to meet Spike's fist.

"Move, move," he growled, dragging her forward.

She got her feet under her. Pushing up on determination alone, the world wobbling before finally coming right again. It hurt. Every goddamn muscle and bone and joint and nerve ending _hurt_. She spat blood on the ground and wiped at her mouth with a trembling hand.

Spike didn't look much better. But when they got to Buffy, oh, Christ, _Buffy_ \--

They had tied her to the cemetery gates.

Faith began to run. Stumbling, pushing past the vampires, falling down again, Spike yanking her back up, she heard herself sobbing -- and Buffy, still alive, still _breathing_ , blood everywhere, all the angles of her body wrong, wrong, wrong. A tear in her stomach gaping like a cavern. Faith smelled Nagorsa blood, saw it dripping from the raw edges of the wound.

She swung the axe to cut her down, heard Spike utter a broken cry as Buffy crumpled to the ground, the vamps snarling behind them.

"Go," Spike said. "I'll hold them off."

Faith didn't argue, just nodded and slung Buffy over her shoulder, dead weight trying to drag out of her arms. She ran.

Sounds of fighting left behind as she hit the shadowed street. She glimpsed the roofs of houses around a corner between some trees and crossed a quiet lawn. Kicked open the front door, half-fell, half-stumbled in, Buffy sliding sickeningly to the floor.

Voices came from somewhere inside the house, a man shouting, a woman screaming. Lights turned on. She managed to stand and knock the man out as he came forward brandishing a baseball bat, took the bat and knocked the wife out with it as she tried to run, and the man again for good measure.

Heard vamps snarling up the yard, drawing up just outside the invisible barrier of the doorway. They hissed and growled at her.

"Come on in!" she screamed at them, but they pushed up against the invisible barrier, snarling in frustration. She broke the baseball bat over her knee and stabbed into the mass of bodies with the broken wood. One, two, three of them burst into dust. The others backed off into the yard.

"Hey, where you going?" She propped herself against the doorframe. "I got plenty more where that came from!" But they stayed well clear of her reach.

For a moment she stood panting in the doorway, then, tucking the makeshift stake in her waistband, she went to check on Buffy.

*

For a second it was hard to tell if she was even breathing. Heart falling into her stomach, Faith leaned over and put her ear to Buffy's lips. Faint, shallow breaths stirred against her face.

"Buffy," she tried to say. Her throat scraped dry and she swallowed. "Buffy."

"Hurts." The sparse pattern of Buffy's breathing shifted, the word feather-like and barely discernible.

"You're gonna be okay. I'll call for help in a sec, worse comes to worse we'll stay here until dawn -- "

"Hurts." Buffy shuddered, eyes closed.

"I know, B, stay with me." But even as she said it a deep, bone-shaking fear rose in her belly. She put her hands gently on Buffy's shoulders and drew them down to cover her heart, feeling the frailty of the body beneath her fingers.

After a moment Buffy opened her eyes. "Spike?"

"I don't know. He stayed -- " She was appalled to find tears blurring her vision, and swiped at them angrily. "Fuck, he tried to warn me. I shoulda listened, shoulda gotten somebody -- "

Buffy's chest went still under her hands.

"Buffy? Buffy!" Somehow she swallowed her panic and laced her fingers together, pushing down against the ribcage. Parted Buffy's cold lips with her own, breathing into her.

But Buffy lay still. Faith felt a dimness crowding her head, a great smothering dark. "Goddamn you!" she shouted against it. "Wake the fuck up!

Endless, endless seconds passed. Then Buffy shuddered and gasped, her body arching.

"You're okay, B." Faith put her hands on Buffy's shoulders again, holding her down.

"Stop," Buffy moaned. "Leave me alone."

"Listen to me, we'll get help soon as the sun's up. Willow'll do some magic healing or whatever -- "

Buffy coughed, blood spraying from her mouth.

"Fuck, _Buffy_..."

"No, don't call Willow." Buffy coughed again.

"Then what?" Faith leaned closer so Buffy could whisper, fighting back the panic. "What do you want to do?"

Buffy shook. Her hand tried to clutch at Faith's arm, then fell away, too weak to hold a grip. "It hurts too much. But I can't do it by myself this time. You have to help me."

"Help you _what_?"

"Jump."

Faith reeled backwards. "No. No, no, fuck you, no."

"Shut up," Buffy said. "Look at me." Her hand scrabbled weakly at the blood-soaked tear of her shirt, fingers slipping around the wound. "You think this is something you can fix?" She pressed Faith's hand to her chest, smearing the blood on her fingers. "Think you can fix _this_?"

Faith whispered, "I don't think anything except you are _not_ giving up like this."

"I already did. This time I'm not taking it back."

"No."

"It'll happen anyway," Buffy said. "But it'll be quicker if you help me."

"I can't." Faith shook her head, trying to stand. "Buffy, I _can't_."

"I'm not asking for anything more than you've already done."

"Don't. Don't ask at all." She sank to the floor next to Buffy, huddling against her thin form. She remembered their first time together, a tangle of warmth on the floor of Buffy's living room, the emptiness she'd refused to acknowledge at the center of it.

Buffy coughed again. "Oh, God, stop arguing with me. _Help_ me, for once _help me_."

"Buffy, _no_."

"I'm asking you," Buffy whispered.

Blindly, Faith reached up and cupped Buffy's face in her hands. With her thumbs she wiped away blood and tears and grime, then pressed her mouth to Buffy's. She tasted blood and salt, and beneath, something acrid and bitter: the aftermath of a fight.

She tried to be gentle, but still Buffy gasped with pain. "I'm sorry," she murmured, pulling away a bit. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Buffy said. Her eyes were clear and luminous. "Please."

Faith nodded, her throat clenching around a sob. Her entire body trembled, each limb loose and out of control. Buffy waited patiently as she collected herself.

Her hands still held Buffy's face. She slid them back a little, into her hair, fingers gripping her scalp.

She'd been so surprised, her first night in Sunnydale, to find Buffy so tired-looking, so fragile. Now it was her need that surprised Faith. She'd never, ever thought Buffy would need her.

"You ready?" She was amazed at how normal her voice sounded.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Buffy turned her head and kissed the palm of Faith's hand. "Don't let them bring me back." It wasn't a plea.

Faith nodded again. Her tears had stopped, and her face was dry. She took a breath, tightening her hands around Buffy's small skull.

In one swift motion she snapped Buffy's neck.

A rush of silence followed. Faith moved her hands to search for a pulse, a heartbeat.

Nothing. It was finished.

Faith lay down again, wrapping herself around Buffy. No gasps of pain this time, only quiet and stillness. Leftover warmth seeped into her. Blind, staring white light filled her head and pushed out all thought.

*

She dreamed of Buffy walking alone in the desert, until night fell and she came to a bonfire blazing up from the sand and rock. Buffy stopped and stared into the flames, the light flickering over her hair.

"This place is sacred," she said.

Then the sun burst into the world and Faith had to shield her eyes. She threw her arm up to cover her face, and in the act of doing so, awoke.

The sun, the real sun, was shining into the windows, impossible to ignore. Faith pulled herself up, stiff and aching, and went to check on the owners of the house.

They had died of their injuries in the night.

She stood over them for a good ten minutes, lost, until she saw a ring of keys on the hall table. Through the open front door she could see the empty, sunlit yard and the driveway where a car sat parked.

 _Don't let them bring me back._

She grabbed the keys and stuffed them in her pocket.

In her arms Buffy was light as a rag doll. She tried not to see the way Buffy's head lolled as she carried her outside, the broken ruin of her body as Faith positioned her in the passenger seat and buckled the seatbelt.

It had been years since she'd driven a car, but it came back to her on the lazy neighborhood streets awash in yellow light, everything soft-tinged and fuzzy. She looked over at Buffy and could almost believe she was asleep.

Faith yanked the car over to the side of the road, fumbled the door open and fell out onto the asphalt. Kneeling, the hard surface and pebbles cutting into her palms, she vomited until there was nothing but dry heaves and sobs choking her throat.

She wiped the sour mess from her mouth and hauled herself into the car again. Buffy's body curled against the passenger door. A lock of hair had fallen over her cheek. Faith smoothed it back.

Green signs led them to the freeway. Operating on instinct, she took the on-ramp for the eastbound lanes, accelerating toward the horizon. In the rearview mirror Sunnydale got smaller and smaller. Soon it had disappeared entirely.

*

She reached the desert from her dream just as the sun had sunk behind her into a bank of clouds, streaking the sky in fire. She steered the car off the highway and drove straight through the sand and scrub brush, passing occasional rock formations or a lone tree, their stunted figures casting strange shadows on the earth. After an hour or so, knowing somehow that it was right, she brought the car to a stop.

In the west the horizon was still a shade of purple, but stars had already begun to spatter the sky. The moon was a sliver of white. She got out of the car and went around to the passenger side, lifting Buffy into her arms again. Buffy's face was peaceful, shadows elongating her cheeks, hiding the wound cradled in her stomach.

Faith began to walk.

The same feeling tingled through her: blood calling to blood. She followed it, no longer sure of where she was, of the hour, or even if she was still dreaming.

A pinprick of light on the horizon grew into a fire, flickering in the dark. Feeling strengthened, Faith quickened her pace until the fire grew to twice her height, until she was standing directly in front of it.

It was burning entirely without heat or sound. Through the flames she saw a shadow figure on the other side, hunched and indistinct, moving so that her eyes couldn't catch its full shape.

"Who are you?" she called, but the figure ducked away and the desert returned only silence.

 _Don't let them bring me back._

Faith shifted Buffy's weight in her arms, listening to the blood, letting it tell her what to do. The flames surged around them as she stepped into the fire, licking against her skin like cool puffs of air.

She laid Buffy's body on the ground and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Leave her," the shadow figure rasped. She was there, crouching over Buffy, the whites of her eyes startling in the dark face.

Faith stood her ground. "Who are you?"

"I am the First, the First of your line, the source of your power. I am the one to whom that power must return."

"I killed her," Faith said.

"Yes. It is right."

"They won't bring her back again?"

"No. You are the Slayer now."

Shivering, Faith looked down at Buffy one last time. The fire had washed away all of the blood and damage, so that she looked clean and whole again. For one long moment Faith wanted to lie down next to her again, to stay there and wait until Buffy awoke.

But the First was silent and implacable. Faith took a deep, shuddering breath, then made herself turn away. Three steps, the cold desert night kissing her face again, and when she glanced back over her shoulder she gasped: the fire had disappeared. Buffy and the First were gone.

She stood amidst the sand and rocks, alone, the great emptiness of the night threatening to crush her beneath its weight. Gradually the sun rose, pushing aside the darkness, her shadow fading up out of the sand. Eventually, Faith was able to make herself move again.

  
_well then rest your soul away_   


**Author's Note:**

> theurgy: divine intervention; the art (or work) of compelling the divine to action
> 
> Thanks to Cassandra and Sophia Jirafe, who kept pushing for better things.
> 
> Comments and criticism welcome.


End file.
